


Ticket Outta Loserville

by tjstar



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Band, Confessions, F/F, F/M, First Crush, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, M/M, Making Out, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Teen Romance, awkward as a lifestyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Darkwing Duck? Really? I’m sixteen, not six,” Patrick resents, taking the DVDs almost gratefully.</p><p>“Can’t tell the difference,” Pete smirks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ticket Outta Loserville

Today sucks. Mostly, because of Patrick’s yesterday’s dumb mistakes — he accidentally spilled cheese sauce all over his Math exercise book, and now his homework smells and looks like shit. It’s not a good way to start the day, but whatever. He hopes Math teacher won’t smell it.

“Pat!” walking down school hallway, Patrick clutches the straps of his backpack in anger as he hears this ugly nickname. “You’re fat, do you know that?”

It sounds like a low-quality rap.

Well, now Dallon Weekes aka Basketball Player aka I’m Gonna Spoil Your Mood acts like this. Two weeks. Since that damned party in his house.

And now he stands right in front of Patrick, glaring down at him.

 _‘Please go and die in the gutter, asshole,’_ this line jumps across Patrick’s brain.

“Yes, I know,” Patrick replies politely. “What else?”

He is more than just sure that his weight doesn’t matter, and Patrick isn’t even _fat_ — it’s just a little soft belly he hides very well under his clothes, and Patrick is cool with it, but again, Dallon has some stupid reasons for being such a moron, and...

“I know why your eyesight is so bad. Because you’re jerking off too fucking mu…”

Patrick doesn’t let him finish; usually quiet teen in a baseball cap can’t swallow his rage, and his fist flies right into Dallon’s solar plexus, and yes, as a short nerdy guy Patrick knows pretty well what it feels like.

“Oh,” he didn’t think that blow was so well-delivered. Patrick would like to be proud of himself, but he started a fight, and it means he’ll end up in nurse’s office anyway. Patrick groans.

Dallon leans his shoulder against the wall and nearly doubles over, and, probably, Patrick has to use his chance to run away while his opponent is temporarily incapacitated.

“I c-can’t believe you fucked her,” Dallon hisses out, rubbing his torso and coughing.

Patrick pushes his crooked glasses up on the bridge of his nose and facepalms.

Yeah, literally: Dallon is sure that Patrick had sex with gorgeous Vicky-T. And it’s not a good sign. Not because Dallon has some feelings for her, no, he just likes to listen to gossips, and the thought that she chose Patrick instead of anyone /Dallon/ bothers him pretty bad.

With a strong sense of inner superiority, Patrick wants to laugh at Dallon’s face, but also he wants to stay alive. Really, today sucks.

He may or may not have wet dreams about Vicky-T, it is natural, Patrick thinks, but there are some things he has to deal with — she is the hottest girl in school, and no one can get really close to her. At Dallon’s house, it was the best and worst at the same time evening in Patrick’s life. He was too drunk to do anything when Vicky dragged him into the bathroom, quickly unzipped his faded jeans and literally shoved her hand down his pants, but when Patrick attempted to touch her perfect breasts, so appealing in her décolleté, Vicky immediately slapped him across his cheek with her free palm. It confused and embarrassed him, probably, that stinging slap had to turn him on, but it was more offensive than hot. Because of that, Patrick kind of lost his mood for sex, excused himself and just… left her, blushing like a ~~virgin~~ reindeer Rudolph’s red nose.

But now Patrick hates his cowardice and scolds himself, especially when he sees Vicky in school (read: every day except for weekends).

Patrick doesn’t know who spreads the rumors, but he catches _envious glances_ from the boys-students _,_ and God knows what goes through their perverted minds. It’s cool that guys /by some miracle/ don’t know about his terrible fiasco, but it makes his hectic life even harder. Thank you, Vicky-T. _‘Thank you for not saying I screwed it all up’._

So. Coming back to reality, Dallon can breathe again, and Patrick feels like he’s already six feet underground.

“Uh. Sorry?” Patrick winces painfully as Dallon death-glares at him, clenching his fists.

Vicky’s hand down his underwear is probably the only one thing Patrick can think about, but he has to banish this thought now, when he’s about to get his face punched.

“What’s up?”

Dallon looks unpleasantly surprised as Patrick turns to the voice. Oh. He knows he prefers brunettes, (honestly, in recent days pretty much everything turns him on, even Brendon Urie’s new haircut. Patrick wants to bury himself alive for his crazy fantasies). But… At first, Patrick decides this kid is a male version of Vicky-T and his jaw nearly drops. Then he realizes he’s even hotter, but then he suddenly remembers his /failed/ first sex and sighs.

Anyway, this guy looks more like a member of a ‘Team Athletes’ than ‘Team Patrick’, and Patrick gets scared a little; what if this emo-looking-boy cooperates with Dallon?

“What do you want from him?”

It’s like a ray of light through the dark clouds above Patrick’s aching head. _‘No, really, please, don’t have a voice like this,’_ he begs mentally. Instead of thinking what he’s doing with his life, Patrick stares at the new student shamelessly. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with some words — ‘Pete! At The Disco’ Patrick reads — and red skinny jeans which make Patrick feel his own jeans get a little tighter. Silly.

“I wish he didn’t exist,” Dallon grumbles, frowning his eyebrows.

Pete At The Disco, apparently, doesn’t want to help Dallon in his mission called ‘Wipe Patrick off the face of the Earth’, so tall guy just walks away, without touching his victim.

‘Team Patrick’ wins.

Ignoring Dallon’s back, Patrick is pretty sure the game is not over.

“Let me guess: Pete?” actually, he wants to talk about this emo-guy’s fashion sense. These red jeans drive Patrick crazy. _‘Keep calm, man, you can.’_

“Wentz,” hyperactive kid nods happily. “Always on your side!”

“Well, I’m Patrick Stump, and friendship with me will ruin your reputation,” Patrick shrugs carelessly, leading Pete straight to nowhere, seriously, he doesn’t even know Pete’s schedule.

“Why do you say this shit about yourself?” Pete asks trustingly, and Patrick smirks at his words. Wentz hasn’t learned the rules yet, okay.

“Oh, you’re so innocent,” Patrick chuckles and distracts from their dialogue, bringing his hand up to highfive Gabe Saporta, but that giant has a trick to greet his friend. “Hey, Gabe, no! Don’t do this!”

From behind, Gabe wraps his arms around Patrick’s middle and literally lifts him up; Patrick kind of used to Gabe’s strange manner of expressing his feelings, but after that all the books and papers in Patrick’s bag look badly crumpled. And Patrick looks badly crumpled too.

“Yo, Stump! Buenos días… Pete!” Gabe yells enthusiastically as he keeps squeezing Patrick in his bear hug. Patrick thinks it’s a Red Bull in Gabe’s veins instead of blood. Normal person can’t be so loud and full of energy at 8 a.m.

“Hi! He… Um, I think, he doesn’t like it?” Pete points his finger at Patrick, who wriggles and manages to kick Gabe in the shin. Laughing, Gabe puts his friend on the floor, and Patrick gives him a weak sour smile, pretending he doesn’t notice curious glances from a group of girls and Brendon. And Brendon has a really cool haircut, and Patrick doesn’t really want to think about it _now_. Fucking brunettes. Stupid morning.

“He’s so tiny and cute, isn’t he?” Gabe exclaims reverently, winking at Pete.

Patrick counts seconds until the bell rings and these awkward situations will stop. But his homework still stinks. Patrick couldn’t even make it to his locker today.

“Yes, he is!” Pete winks back and slams his palm on Patrick’s shoulder like he knows him for hundred years.

“I’m, like, still here?” Patrick says sheepishly, gazing at his sneakers. His reddish hair falls into his eyes, and the lenses of his glasses are dirty again, and he doesn’t think it makes him attractive.

Pete glances at his baseball cap adoringly, and Patrick wants either run and hide from him or kiss him. Both desires seem equally stupid.

 

***

Having common classes with Pete means ‘dude, what is Chem teacher’s name?’ or ‘can you help me with this essay?’ or ‘finally, it’s a lunch break!’

Somewhat Pete fits into a company of school punks — Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley — both curly-haired and with a nice sense of humor; when the trio goes to Patrick, he feels jealousy and surprised at the same time, but mostly he’s okay with that.

“I pierced my tongue,” Andy informs, shaking Patrick’s hand.

“Um. Congrats? Does it hurt?” Patrick scratches the back of his head, almost knocking his baseball cap down on his face.

“No! Not unless Troh will try to kiss me, huh,” Andy jokes; this phrase makes Joe laugh, because he’s wearing a silver ring in his bottom lip; fortunately, Patrick has passed that stage where he wanted to suck Joe’s piercing. Year ago.

“Ooh, I’d like to watch,” Pete gives them his widest grin.

They’re friends now. And even Dallon doesn’t look so massive and scary anymore.

Patrick smirks as Pete grabs him by the shoulders and guides him to the exit.

In school cafeteria, Patrick rests his elbows on the table, props his head on his hand and just listens to Pete’s emotional reasoning about soccer. Nearly passing out from tiredness after that ass-kicking Chem test, Patrick draws the following conclusions: 1. Pete really likes soccer; 2. Patrick can’t understand a single word of what he’s saying.

No, it’s not because Patrick all the way stares on Pete’s lips or try to look into Pete’s brown eyes, of course not. Patrick just doesn’t like sport.

…and, feeling like eight-year-old girl, Patrick says his silly ‘yes’ when Pete jokingly offers him to be his ‘personal coach’ at PE.

 

***

Next day starts with scorched toasts, nasty coffee stains on Patrick’s clothes and creepy conversation with Vicky-T in school.

The hallway is already pretty crowded; Patrick notices Brendon with his usual paper folder. Nimble guy comes to random students and talks to them with such a serious expression on his face; another stupid social poll, probably, and when Jack Barakat flips Brendon off, Patrick covers his mouth with his palm not to laugh.

As a future journalist, Brendon gushes with crazy ideas.

Patrick pretends he is mute from birth when Vicky for the first time since that party says something else besides the ‘hello’.

Wiping his glasses on his sleeve and taking them back on, Patrick tries his best not to stare at her, but it’s hard to be a gentleman when Vicky’s wearing that cute blouse, and Patrick automatically starts to count the buttons. Ten. And the top two buttons undone, and oh, does she wear a push-up bra or it’s a fantastic gift from Mother Nature?

“Stump!” Vicky snaps her fingers in front of Patrick’s nose, bringing him back to senses.

“Just… Nice, um, nice _everything_ ,” Patrick mutters, showing big imaginary boobs on his own chest and suddenly getting sweaty.

“Nice _what?_ You suck at complimenting,” the girl smirks good-naturedly.

“It’s a thing,” Patrick rubs his forehead, avoiding Vicky’s eyes and / _‘no, it’s her real size’_ / breasts. If he has something for Pete, it doesn’t mean he can’t react on this unconcealed provocation. Oh God, sometimes at mornings Patrick reacts even on Helga from ‘Hey, Arnold’. Nickelodeon should be illegal.

Meanwhile, Vicky moves closer and Patrick takes a step backwards as his upset friend keeps driving him into a corner between the wall and lockers. Like a group of those bullies from middle school.

“Gabe is a bad influence. Don’t play with this boy. I’m joking,” Vicky sighs pointedly, and Patrick is about to start biting his short nails. “Oh, lanky and funny Gabe, I thought I loved him, and now he dates Bill! And then I liked Jack, but he’s with Alex from the very beginning, and now… Shit, now it’s you with your stupid hard-on on Wentz!”

“Oh,” for Patrick, it sounds kind of rude. It’s not his fault that his baggy jeans can’t cover every reflex of his teenage body, for fuck’s sake! “My apologies?”

“No. I wanna kick you in the groin,” she says firmly. “But I love you.”

“I appreciate this,” after her words, Patrick can swear he feels the real pain (and he doesn’t know which confession makes him hurt more).

“Fuck you, Stump!” Vicky nearly laughs.

Patrick nods overdramatically and tries to walk away, but Vicky snatches the sleeve of his fleece hoodie and doesn’t let him go. As he learned that from bitter experience, Patrick decides she’s going to turn her threat into action, so his hands promptly move to his crotch to cover and protect himself from probable hit.

“No, don’t worry,” Vicky just gives him a look full of guilt. “Hugs?”

“Hugs,” Patrick smiles, wrapping his arms around the girl’s waist and resting his chin on her shoulder; again, he stands in school hallway, literally glued to Vicky-T, and there are witnesses almost everywhere. Patrick feels his cheeks burn when he notices Gabe — extremely tall guy holds a piece of paper with sloppy written wish _‘WeAr PrOtEcTiOn’._

“I said you were awesome that night,” Vicky whispers into his ear confidentially. “I didn’t think they’re so envious.”

Female logic. It’s almost impossible to be awesome at this point, when you’re sixteen and drunk, and you’re pinned against the tiled wall in the weirdest position, but what the hell — people believe this bullshit, just because they respect Vicky-T. It’s simple. And now every guy in school has a reasonable cause to hate Patrick.

“Will you come and visit me in the hospital when I get my ass kicked by the whole basketball team?” Patrick chuckles nervously.

“Of course,” the girl promises.

Patrick imagines new dirty gossips about his private life, and then, unfortunately, he sees Pete (dark-haired student just smiles at him, showing his teeth, and Patrick convinces himself it’s not a flirting — Pete is just a friendly and polite kid). Patrick resists the urge to push Vicky away as he feels familiar warmth sliding down to his lower stomach, which makes him let out a traitorous ‘ooh’ and bite his lip. Icy-cold shower would be perfect right about now. Vicky gives him a puzzled look, and Patrick just mumbles ‘I gotta go’, shakes Vicky’s hand and hurriedly heads to the opposite side not to meet Pete while he is in this state.

Fucking morning reflexes.

 

***

Between the classes, Pete magically appears everywhere where Patrick goes; Pete tells him that he has already joined School soccer team and he’s proud of it.

“Why don’t you want to join _us_?” there is nothing suspicious in Pete’s question, but Patrick starts defending himself anyway.

“I’m like… Not good enough? I’m the worst player on the Earth? Typical loser?” Patrick picks up other determinations to describe his sport-skills, but Pete interrupts his self-torturing.

Really, Pete just grabs Patrick by the collar of his shirt, so he turns face to face with his weirdest crush. Ooh.

“Stop it,” Pete starts, and Patrick is too busy looking in his warm brown eyes with little golden sparkles _(‘Shit, stop being such a spineless fangirl’_ ) to register his words. “If you say you’re a loser, then I want to live in your Loserville, okay?”

Woah, he’s too resolute for a second day of their acquaintance.

Patrick likes it.

 

***

When Patrick gets home, in the kitchen he fills up the sink with cold water and plunges his head into it, not bothering about taking off his baseball cap and glasses.

 

***

Finally, it’s Friday, and it means Patrick almost survived this week, and he will celebrate it sprawling across the couch all the weekend and watching ~~cartoons~~ Discovery channel. Making these amazing plans and eating a tasteless hot-dog for breakfast, Patrick tries to find Pete in school; he wants to offer him to be his partner for a History project, even if it sounds more like ‘I-can’t-control-my-orgasms-when-I’m-with-you’. Honestly, Patrick is able to do this. With great efforts.

Passing by the music classroom, Patrick, by force of habit, pushes the unlocked door open and walks in; he can spend a great time here, talking to Mr. Novarro while he’s waiting for Pete. Also, he can hide here from Dallon’s anger or Gabe’s greeting. Noticing some movements behind the translucent curtain in the corner if the classroom, Patrick quickly understands he’s an uninvited guest; he hears a pretty loud sounds of a heavy make-out session and at first thinks it’s his music teacher with someone (oh God, who?), but then he sees a flash of a familiar dark hair and some funny orange strands.

The blood in Patrick’s veins turns into an ice, and he forgets about fast-food in his hand as he realizes what’s going on. The curtain can’t drape a girl couple, kissing each other passionately; they don’t notice Patrick or just don’t pay attention on him, and he’s with a professional accuracy recognizes Vicky-T (really, he can find her in the darkest room, blindfolded and with tied arms) and… and Hayley Williams, that tiny skinny girl who likes music and video games.

_‘Is this Heavens or Hell?’_

Curious half of Patrick wants to stay here and watch, but his smarter part kicks him out of the room; the boy closes the door shut behind him, hoping that Vicky and Hayley have enough time to finish what they have started.

He’s about to stand near the door as a security guard, seriously, but he has some personal troubles.

Patrick feels dangerously nauseous, because there is a bunch of dead butterflies’ rots in his stomach, so he throws his half-eaten hot-dog into the nearest trash can in the hallway. Too much cholesterol.

When Patrick with his peripheral vision catches Dallon, he just flips him off wordlessly in best Barakat’s manner and increases his pace.

He lost count of his mistakes. Letting out a heavy sigh, Patrick sits down onto the bench and shakes his head, assuming that now he has a brand new erotic fantasy for the rest of his life. _‘Vicky-T has a girlfriend’_. Really, Patrick is going to take this secret to his grave, if it’s necessary. Forgetting about he had to find Pete, Patrick nearly drops his glasses (stupid lenses — always dirty) as he feels a strong pat on his back.

“Hey, oh… Are you okay? You look a little green…” Pete sits down next to him, so his thigh presses against Patrick’s.

 _‘Oh yes man, move closer, don’t be shy! I’m like just burning, but it’s okay!’_ a nasty sarcastic voice in Patrick’s head prompts.

But of course Patrick doesn’t say so.

“What? Oh, no, I’m fine, really, d-don’t worry, it happens, I’m uh…” Patrick stutters as he always does when he’s nervous; sometimes he wants to seal his mouth with a duct tape.

Pete just takes Patrick’s hand, and it suddenly makes Patrick to squeeze his glasses in his palm hard enough to nearly break them.

“Wanna hang out tomorrow?”

Wow, Patrick was wrong. Pete sounds so hopefully, and Patrick puts his glasses on the bridge of his nose to look into Pete’s eyes again; it is his best erotic fantasy, without a rival.

“Oh, what? If it’s party… oh no, I don’t like parties,” Patrick replies scaredly.

“No. Just you and me. So?”

 _‘It’s a date, datedatedate,’_ Patrick exults.

“Um. Yes? Yes, I think. Yes, of course, I’m free,” he nods, suddenly feeling the strong urge to make sure the zipper of his jeans is fine. Fuck.

“Cool! I’ll call you later,” Pete beams at him, and Patrick huffs in response; his swollen bottom lip hurts from being bitten all this time.

The day goes in a haze, and Patrick barely hears the bell after the last class, thinking it’s just a ringing in his ears. Pete is on the field right now, and it’s his first soccer training, but Patrick can’t just go and watch, because it’s too much for him. For both of them.

They have a date anyway.

 

***

After the dinner with his mom, Patrick says he has to do his homework for Monday and sprints up to his upstairs bedroom. He locks the door, pulls off his jeans hastily and steps over them, leaving them scattered on the carpet, and freezes beside his bed, hesitated. Why does he always feel guilty about this? Patrick looks down at himself. Oh. He automatically rubs the front of his predictably too-tight boxers, realizing he’s so turned on that it’s almost painful.

Pete. It’s all Pete’s fault, and Patrick barely holds himself back from starting to push into his palm right now. _‘Remember porn-magazines,’_ Patrick sighs. It’s not working.

He flops down onto his bed, and it creaks under his weight.

Well, okay. Girls kissing always look cute? _‘Yes,’_ Patrick agrees mentally. It’s exactly what teenage boy needs to entertain himself in his tiny and dark bedroom before going to sleep. After a few seconds, Patrick realizes that he can’t think about Hayley in a sexual way. Not a big problem — he gathers his thoughts and pictures Vicky as he always does, but fuck — her face replaces with Pete’s wide smile and prefect white teeth, and — Patrick can’t stop himself, barely choking back a moan — the way he held Patrick’s hand; it wasn’t as obvious as that time with Vicky-T, but hanging out with Pete in school is much better, and it’s so simple, and maybe… Patrick fell in love.

Pete promised to call.

Patrick hopes, they’ll go on the date, and Pete will wear his skinny jeans again, and then… _Kissing._ Patrick has no clue how these stupidly romantic things can play these physiological tricks on him, but it’s the fact.

_‘I want him.’_

Patrick nods to himself, focusing on those memories and wishes; his heart beats in his throat, the wave of sudden excitement overwhelms him, and Patrick slightly lifts his hips up above the mattress as this pulsating pressure in his crotch becomes stronger, and Patrick really, really wants to touch himself and finally get off after this crazy day.

The time has come, Patrick decides, pulling up the hem of his t-shirt and running his fingers down the faint trail of hair right below his belly button.

_‘Pete.’_

No one will know. He has a right for doing this — Patrick likes this guy, and Pete likes him back.

But…

Pete is not his boyfriend. Shit.

Patrick’s right hand freezes on the half-way to the waistband of his underwear. No. He’s not going to do this in Pete’s honour, no, he can handle it! Instead, Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and presses fingertips to his eyelids, seeing abstract fireworks and trying to think straight. _‘Stop teasing yourself, idiot.’_ But it feels like all the blood has already drained from his brain way too lower, and Patrick slowly and reluctantly falls asleep like this, hard and uncomfortable; he rolls onto his stomach and shoves his hands under the pillow not to shove them somewhere else.

 

***

Without an alarm clock, Patrick wakes up pretty late and, forcing his clouded mind to get back to normal, spends around five minutes figuring out why the hell he’s so sticky and hot between his thighs. _‘Oh,’_ Patrick blindly reaches his hand to check out what happened, and winces as the truth literally sucker-punches him. _‘Great. My body takes revenge on me for my abstinence.’_

He doesn’t even remember what he saw in that dream, but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t related with Vicky and Hayley’s kiss. _Pete._ Embarrassment makes Patrick’s head swim as he tries to sit up, or maybe it’s just a side effect of his nearsightedness? After failing attempts to smother himself with the pillow, Patrick stumbles to his wardrobe to find a pair of clean boxers and — Jesus, how could this happen — even his t-shirt has specific stains now.

Being a teenager sucks. Today sucks. Again. Everything sucks.

But Pete promised to call, and it makes Patrick’s aimless existence a little better. He doesn’t know what he should do with Pete tête-à-tête, he just wants him in his bedroom, but maybe Pete has an idea? It’s cool, actually, because Patrick’s mom is going to visit her sister on the other side of town, and Patrick is not a big fan of conversations like ‘oh, Pat, your son is a beautiful boy’ and ‘does Patrick have a girlfriend?’; so he tries to avoid such a confusing meetings with his aunt.

When Patrick walks into the kitchen, he notices a small piece of paper under the flower-magnet on the fridge.

_‘I’ll be home tomorrow evening. Don't play with matches ‘._

_‘Yes, mom,’_ Patrick rolls his eyes. When he was eight, he accidentally burned a hem of a drape in his room with a lighter which he found, and, probably, his mom got a psychological trauma or something like that. But now this cute note seems kind of funny, so Patrick smiles with the corner of his mouth. He’s pretty glad his mom haven’t seen him like half of an hour ago, and now, standing here in clean t-shirt and pajama pants, he feels almost self-confident. Fine. He wants to get some breakfast and then — according to his plans — he will lie on the sofa in living room and think about Pete; okay, Patrick isn’t going to wait for that damned call like a lap dog, he just wants to spend his boring weekend as usual.

 

***

Pete isn’t calling.

It’s 6 p.m. and Patrick’s numb back aches from lying on a sagging couch, and his eyes are tired from watching crappy TV; he’s about to go grab his laptop and try to find any Pete’s contacts in the internet, but he’s too lazy to get his body off the sofa (also, Patrick thinks it’s silly, and he’s ready to admit that Pete lied to him). He suggests he has a typical for _girls_ depression, because he hangs out by himself, hugging a bucket of an ice-cream with chocolate chips and M &M’s, there are empty bottles of Dr. Pepper everywhere, and he watches ‘Sex And The City’. Potential boyfriend isn’t calling, and Patrick starts to empathize with women from that TV-series. _‘What the hell am I doing?’_ Patrick asks himself and changes the channel, but keeps eating sweets in the same rhythm. ‘Pretty Woman’. It’s a conspiracy, Patrick is sure and, licking the spoon, he changes the channel again — ancient ‘Mickey Mouse Club’. Okay.

Patrick decides to put his favorite ‘Batman’ into a DVD player and feel like a man, but shit — it’s 8 p.m. and motherfucker Wentz still doesn’t remind of his existence. Patrick curses his credulity with such a colorful words as his cellphone buzzes against his thigh.

The boy jumps up in his warm blankets-nest, and his glasses fall off his nose, and he can’t find them, so he just grabs his phone and presses the right button intuitively. Message is a little blurry, and the screen is too bright in the dim room, but Patrick still can read it.

_‘r u alive? ;) wanna meet u’_

Patrick literally sees a flock of butt-naked cherubs flying across the room and singing ‘Hallelujah’. Pete, of course it’s Pete, and Patrick fidgets on the couch in attempts to find glasses; as he finds them, he texts back immediately, and his hands even shake a little. Patrick doesn’t want to send an illiterate message.

_‘I’m not feeling well…’_

He’s feeling awesome now, to be honest, but he just doesn’t want Pete to think Patrick was so nervous about this that he had a stress-eating attack. So it’s his little whim.

Patrick receives another message after a few seconds.

_‘can i come 2 u then?’_

Certainly, Patrick knows Pete knows his address, but he’s not in the mood to go out tonight, and ‘pajama party’ with Pete would be perfect; he’ll be here in one hour or so, and suddenly Patrick hesitates if he has to take another /cold/ shower or maybe brush his teeth even if he’s sure he tastes like ice-cream and chocolate. He shrugs and types the answer.

_‘Yeah, I think.’_

Patrick takes a deep breath as his phone buzzes again.

_‘cool, I have a surprise :p’_

His head feels light, and Patrick has no clue what he has to write back, so he sends just _‘Nice. I’m waiting’_ and wants to bang his forehead against the wooden floor. Then Patrick gets up and rushes into the bathroom, almost tripping over the quilt blanket, and inspects his reflection like it’s the first time he sees himself in the mirror. His lips are too contrasted on his pale face, and Patrick hates this porcelain-doll look, and he rubs his cheeks to make them at least pink, not white. Patrick frowns and tugs up his loose pajama pants, thinking he looks like a ten-year-old boy who’s waiting for his best friend to play a MarioKart together.

This is definitely not a date.

Patrick sighs desperately and goes back to the living room, feeling like a fool and staring at the TV — old black and white Disney cartoons are pretty charming.

At around 9:15 p.m. the doorbell rings, and Patrick, still in his ‘I’m-going-to-sleep’ clothes, hurries to the door and almost yells in happiness as he recognizes Pete at the threshold. _Finally._ Pete greets him with a huge grin, and he wears his red skinny jeans and ‘FORGET EVERYTHING, REGRET NOTHING’ black t-shirt, and Patrick wants to run his fingers through Pete’s tousled hair and make his emo make-up run (eyeliner is already a bit smeared). Instead, Patrick just leads him into the hallway and pays attention on the flat plastic boxes with DVDs in Pete’s hands. Patrick focuses and laughs at Pete’s face expression: he beams as if he’s won the lottery.

“Darkwing Duck? Really? I’m sixteen, not six,” Patrick resents, taking the DVDs almost gratefully.

“Can’t tell the difference,” Pete smirks.

It’s a big secret, and Patrick doesn’t talk to his classmates about cartoons despite the fact he still watches them often enough. How the hell did Pete know about Patrick’s soft spot, _especially_ about ‘Darkwing Duck’? But Pete, apparently, isn’t going to make fun of Patrick’s childish preferences, and Patrick’s heart-beating goes faster and faster; he’s sure Pete can hear it, and Patrick presses the boxes to his chest and for the umpteenth time enters the living room, making sure Pete follows him.

Of course, they just sit on the couch, wrapped into blankets, and watch the ‘Darkwing Duck’ instead of even more childish ‘Mickey Mouse’ or women’s melodramas’. Forgotten ice-cream is melting in the bucket on the floor, and Patrick feels so warm as Pete rests his head on the crook of Patrick’s neck, and his dark hair tickle Patrick’s jaw. He thinks his own reddish hair is too long, Patrick can’t even remember the last time he had a haircut, and he feels unsecure without his baseball cap; then Pete leans closer to his side, and Patrick decides it doesn’t matter, when he’s under the one blanket with the beautiful guy he met just a few days ago.

They start making out by the end of the third episode; Patrick is about to sneeze because of Pete’s fluffy strands in his nose, and he tries to blow it away. It just happens — Pete lifts his head up and presses his wet lips against Patrick’s dry ones, and then it’s Pete’s tongue in Patrick’s mouth too fast and possessively, so he doesn’t even know how to return the kiss, because it’s the first time he kisses anyone, but he learns the niceties in the process. Pete tastes like mint; there’s a few degrees hotter than before in the room, and their heavy breathing mixes with a light but loud moans. The teens are just throwing the baits for each other, but it’s not the time for shyness, when Pete’s hand already under Patrick’s t-shirt, and Patrick feels the muscles as he rubs Pete’s back, and his face is so close that Patrick can see it even in the faint flashes of a TV screen.

“I’m in love with you,” Pete gasps between the sloppy kisses. “Since that moment you punched that creep in the hallway, you are so brave!”

“Same,” Patrick whispers, unable to represent a coherent speech as Pete slowly crawls on top of him; Patrick feels like he’s in an open space without a spacesuit. In a good way, though.

Their legs tangled together, and Patrick regrets that he’s wearing these pretty warm pants, he is sweaty, and he’s about to offer to take their clothes off, but Pete suddenly bites Patrick’s lip, and Patrick decides it’s a sign to shut up and fall into euphoria (and love).    

Then Patrick suddenly realizes he’s lying on his phone and it buzzes under his back; he can’t understand it at first, because the real world doesn’t exist anymore, and being trapped into Pete’s arms feels just amazing, but Patrick has to answer the call. After fishing his cellphone out, Patrick just groans as he sees the caller’s ID.

“Pete… Sorry, it’s my _mom_ ,” Patrick grumbles, bringing the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

Pete nods and makes attempt to roll off of him, but Patrick gives him a sign to stay still. Patrick’s mom asks predictable things like ‘how you’re doing’ and ‘don’t forget to eat dinner’, and Patrick tries his best to reply as if Pete’s hip wasn’t clamped between his thighs. But then Pete moves, it puts a pressure, Patrick’s breath hitches, and his voice goes along with a professional low-growl notes.

“Yeees, mom. I’m fine and I’m gonna go to sleep. See you tomorrow,” Patrick ends the conversation, intending to continue his wonderful amusement with Pete, who tugs the ties on Patrick’s pajama pants.

The next question lands on Patrick like a snow avalanche.

 “So, you are not a virgin, right?” Pete leans to kiss him again, and Patrick starts staring at the TV instead of the gleam of Pete’s brown eyes.  

_‘I chickened out, dude.’_

“I don’t remember, I was wasted,” Patrick lies timidly, getting ready for exclamations like ‘HOW THE HELL’, but Pete just reaches his hand wordlessly and strokes Patrick’s hair.

They keep exchanging lazy kisses, Patrick is very experienced in this thing now, and it goes even better with every touch; also, he really likes the noises Pete makes as Patrick’s fist grips his nape hair.

 _‘Let’s do this,’_ Patrick begs mentally, but it seems like Pete enjoys a lot just their make-out session, and Patrick is pretty sure he’s about to get a bruise when Pete bites the soft skin under his chin. Pete likes biting, but he doesn’t seize the initiative. It’s okay. Maybe, next time.

Patrick’s glasses are fogged with Pete’s breath, and the boys reluctantly pull away from each other as the opening theme of the fifth episode of ‘Darkwing Duck’ starts.

“It was… Hot,” Patrick guesses, with the strong sense that Pete licked all the chocolate taste out of his mouth.

“Yes… I fucking love cartoons!” Pete blurts out, and Patrick huffs crossly, but Pete moves closer to cuddle, and Patrick’s heart turns into a happy puddle in his chest. Best evening ever, really.

“Yeah, it’s just the first season,” Patrick shrugs in Pete’s tight hug. “Stay with me, please?”

“Woah, can I?” Pete literally lights the room up with his smile. “Of course! I’m just gonna text my parents, and it all will be fine.”

It’s really fine.

Yes, they are sixteen-year-olds, and they just sprawl on the couch after making-out and watch Disney’s piece of art, falling asleep in embrace with each other.

 

***

At the morning, Patrick decides that now he officially has a right to use last evening’s memories to get off during his traditional shower, thinking of Pete.

He’s sure Pete does the same, and probably, they have to talk about this, but Patrick is too shy and polite to ask for what he really needs at the moment, so after the shower he just relaxes under the blanket, while Pete emotionally sings some non-existent screamo-opera-songs in the bathroom.

Anyway, they spend all the rainy Sunday together, eating sweets, cuddling on the sofa and watching endless cartoons, like an old married couple or a couple of little kids, but both of them are more than just happy. _‘We are boyfriends,’_ Patrick guesses, breathing in the smell of his own menthol shampoo from Pete’s still wet hair. Without an eyeliner this guy looks way too younger, and it makes Patrick feel comfortable and safe.

In the evening, when Pete goes home, and Patrick’s mom finally comes back from her journey, she asks worriedly, how was Patrick’s weekend. Patrick shrugs and replies ‘as usual’.

 

***

Patrick sits on the bleachers and rubs a huge colorful bruise on his knee — a ‘gift’ from the last PE when he tried ~~unsuccessfully~~ to play soccer. It’s Monday, the last class, and Patrick seriously thinks about skipping PE today, because he considers himself as a useless player and, actually, no one will notice his absence, and even coach Harris isn’t interested in Patrick’s  muscle mass or his sport-career at all. Patrick looks around the field — Gabe runs his third or fourth lap only because he likes it, and Bill stands by the side of the track, encouraging his hyperactive boyfriend. Patrick guesses he can’t run even a half of a lap, warming up before something injurious like another soccer game.

It’s his first PE with Pete.

Brendon is twerking near the bleachers, Dallon laughs at him, and Jack whispers to Alex ‘do the same for me’; Patrick takes his glasses off and fixes them on the collar of his t-shirt not to see Brendon’s ass in his red ‘Are You Nasty?’ shorts. Patrick is so lost in his chaotic thoughts that he doesn’t notice Pete, who appears literally from nowhere and flops down on the bench next to him.   

“Long legs,” Pete utters, giving him an appraising glance.

“Excuse me?” Patrick sticks his knees together, feeling shamefully unprotected and hoping that Pete is interested only in his legs and isn’t going to look in between. Also, it’s the first time when Patrick is wearing these stupid loose black shorts in front of his boyfriend /oh God — they know each other only a week!/, and it seems like Pete really enjoys it.

“You’re short, but your legs are pretty long,” Pete explains. “Good for running.”

Wordlessly, Patrick bends over and ties the shoelaces on his sneakers; he doesn’t want to crash down somewhere in the center of a sports ground. And then Patrick thinks that Pete, despite his usual make-up, looks so manly in his soccer kit with school colors — green and white. Patrick has got his lucky ticket, seriously.

…but it doesn’t matter how much Patrick wants to be careful — he’s the clumsiest person in the school, so, of course he fails. Without glasses he can’t see the track clearly, and running with glasses on his face is even more dangerous — stabbing himself in the eye with a smashed lens is not Patrick’s biggest dream. Someone pushes him from behind, and Patrick flies down on the field; he’s grateful the grass is relatively soft, and he’s good at falling — Patrick manages to curl into a ball not to hit the ground really hard. The next runner with the force of moving truck falls on top of him, and Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, getting ready to hear the cracking of his broken ribs.

But he doesn’t hear anything except for ringing in his ears and his own heart-beating as he tries to catch back the air, which was pushed out of his lungs during the collision.

Barely breathing and still lying on his side, Patrick forces his eyelids open and sees, as silly as it sounds, familiar knees — it’s Pete, who’s crouched down a few inches away.  _‘Please, go… Hey, wait, don’t leave me!’_

“Hey? Sorry?” Pete touches Patrick’s shoulder gently, and the other boy just blushes and nuzzles his nose into the grass, wishing he could hide under his cap.

“I’m fine,” Patrick sighs uncertainly. “Don’t look at me…”

When Patrick sits up with a great effort, the pain slightly shoots his side, but mostly he’s okay. He’s pretty sure there are green-grass stains all over his clothes and on his bare elbows and legs, and that bruise on his knee increased in size, but it’s not so terrible. He’s not even bleeding. And his glasses are okay; a little dirty as he takes them on, but it’s not the worst.

Patrick gets up, hanging on Pete’s strong shoulder and feeling guilty about being so heavy; in the same time, coach Harris jumps to their side with a terrified face expression. Other students are pretty far away, and Patrick gazes in their direction melancholically and even nods at Gabe to show he’s alive.

“No, not again, Stump, please be okay! What happened this time?” the coach crosses his arms over his chest, gazing at the boys anxiously.

Patrick snorts scowlingly and rubs his hip, without any desire to join the conversation; he still can’t take a full breath and he just wants to sit on the bleachers for the rest of the class.

“Lead him to the nurse. Oh wait, I go with you,” Mr. Harris decides, and Patrick finally starts speaking only not to be even more miserable.

“I’m not injured…” Patrick huffs, avoiding teacher’s eyes.

“Happy landing, I think?” Pete wraps his arm around Patrick’s shoulders, giving him a little smile. Patrick nods, tilting his head forward so his hair covers his reddened cheeks.

“Wentz, I know this guy pretty well; he keeps silence even if he gets a concussion or something equally dangerous,” the coach reassures. “Don’t listen to what he’s saying, just drag him to the nurse’s office.”

“Okay,” Pete agrees enthusiastically and carefully guides Patrick away from the sports ground; Patrick bites his lip as he feels a nasty cramp in the calf muscle, but he can handle it.

Guess what? Right, today SUCKS.

 

***

In the school building, Patrick attempts to convince Pete he’s not fragile, and he didn’t break anything, and he’s just planning to go home not to make Pete sad.

“Pete, really. I’m not going to nurse, I don’t want to scare her! She sees me too often!” Patrick whines as Pete grabs him in Gabe’s style; it’s kind of problematic, because they’re almost the same height, and none of them can imagine how it feels to be extremely tall.

“But it’s my fault, and I want to be sure you are okay!” Pete breathes into Patrick’s ear, hugging him from behind; Patrick gives up on struggling with another hot wave of nagging pain, rushing through his body.

“Jesus, Pete, stop squeezing me, shit, it hurts!” Patrick slaps Pete’s hand, and his boyfriend lets him go immediately. “All my left side hurts, okay? But it’s just because I fell, it’s normal, and I’m not going to take my clothes off for our fifty-year-old nurse!”

Patrick trails off; his voice echoed through the empty hallway, and it’s almost twenty minutes till the bell rings, and Patrick just freezes in front of his boyfriend, staring at the floor, unsure what to do. He doesn’t want to bump into anyone right now.

“Sh, calm down, let’s just go and clean you up,” Pete rolls his eyes. “Dude, I’m not gonna kiss you while you are so dirty.”

“Thank you very much,” raising his chin up arrogantly, Patrick heads to the restrooms.

He hears Pete’s smirking behind his back as he opens the door.

As soon as Patrick washes his sweaty face and hands, he thinks that kiss Pete right now would be just perfect. And of course, Pete doesn’t refuse when Patrick snatches the collar of his soccer-shirt and pulls him closer, catching his lips into an awkward kiss; but then, Patrick finds the courage and starts to behave more confident — with Pete it’s really easy, the boys just can’t stop kissing, despite the uncomfortable place they chose.

Patrick suggests he has a thing about bathrooms.

They are so close to each other, and their hair mixing into reddish-black mess, and Patrick just can’t get enough, hearing Pete’s muffled moans and groans as he literally swallows down Patrick’s ‘do-or-die’ kisses, trying to tug his shorts down. _‘Oh,’_ Patrick thinks blankly as he sucks the mark on Pete’s neck, making sure it will be noticeable on his tanned skin. The door is unlocked, but what the luck — Patrick can press Pete against the door, and it kind of blocks the way to everyone. He’s so smart in any critical situations.

“Oh,” Patrick exhales and shudders as the school bell rings. “Maybe, um, later?”

“Are you sure?” Pete rubs his jaw, and Patrick grins, quickly pecking his lips once again.    

“Yes,” Patrick nods, giving Pete a sign to give him a little more space.

Patrick isn’t surprised when he runs into Vicky-T as soon as they leave the restroom. The girl greets them friendly and pulls Patrick into a hug; it is nice to meet her in t-shirt without any décolleté, because he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be so good for Pete. It’s not that Pete is jealous, no, but it’s just Vicky-T again, and she always makes everything in Patrick’s life more complicated.

“I’m not gonna harassing you, Stump,” Vicky’s warm hand pats Patrick’s shoulder. The boy wants to sink through the floor or he craves to be invisible, but of course he hasn’t these wonderful options.

“Thanks?” Patrick sheepishly smiles back and turns his head to look at Pete just in time to see his famous smirk.

The students slowly begin to fill up the hallway, and the bunch of Patrick’s classmates head to the locker-rooms — Brendon keeps twerking, and Gabe winks at his short friends; Patrick thinks he and Pete have to join them, but he’s pretty confused by Vicky-T in front of him. Patrick even starts feeling nervously sick when the coach Harris materializes beside him, worried as always.

“What are you doing there?” the coach stares at Patrick, scanning him with his gaze like an x-ray.

“We are giving me first aid?” Patrick licks his lips, pulling himself out of Vicky’s embrace.  _‘Why can’t I just shut up?’_

Mr. Harris groans with the accompaniment of Pete’s laughter.

“Just. Go. Home,” the coach waves his hand, and Patrick tugs Pete’s short sleeve to make him go and finally change their clothes.

When Patrick comes back to senses, he realizes that Vicky disappeared. Probably, she’s with Hayley or she just has things to do, but Patrick suddenly feels free and independent, gripping the fabric of Pete’s shirt.

 

***

Amazingly, Patrick’s weekdays no longer suck.

He slightly blushes in a good way, thinking of that intimate moments in his bedroom when he and Pete made love (what do you mean, he went off too soon? He was awesome, without any doubts!), it was strange, but it’s alright. Next time will definitely be better.

In school, Vicky and Hayley are like glued to each other, exchanging playful glances with Patrick. He’s about to pray for their eternal love, to be honest.

On Math test, Patrick throws at Dallon a paper ball with the answers written on it. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, but he surely knows that Dallon isn’t good at Math. Patrick isn’t going to fawn, and he hasn’t much respect for this basketball player — the shorter teen just decides to help him to deal with his troubles with science. The paper hits Dallon’s neck and gets stuck at the collar of his shirt, and when the tall guy notices it, he quickly finds out the sender. Despite the small height and pretty bad eyesight, Patrick always sits at the farthest table in the classroom, usually alone, but now Pete sits next to him and gives him a weird look as Patrick does so. Dallon turns away from his second table, and Patrick just shrugs in response, catching his classmate’s bewildered glance.

Right after the test, Pete drags Patrick at the darkest corner under the stairs in school (their secret place) and kisses him so hard that Patrick is about to be late for his Literature lesson.

At the lunch break, when Patrick is waiting for Pete near the lockers to go to the cafeteria together, Dallon obviously intends to clear some details about what happened at morning.

At first, Patrick thinks he’s gonna faint in the center of the hallway as Dallon grabs his wrist, but: a) Gabe already hurries in their direction; b) Dallon looks confused and guilty, but not angry.

“Why did you do that?” Dallon asks, resting his palm on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Well, I am a good guy,” Patrick says, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Yes. You know, Stump…” Dallon scratches the back of his head as he can’t find the courage to continue. “I was wrong. About you… And Vicky,” he keeps mumbling something, but Patrick can’t properly hear him, because he doesn’t want Gabe to intervene in this conversation (his friend is always up to talk), and also he sees Pete at the end of the hallway.

“Okay, fine, gotta go!” Patrick shakes Dallon’s hand in an accommodating spirit and almost runs to his boyfriend. “Hi Gabe, see you later!” he dodges Gabe’s outstretched arms as he reaches his goal.

Pete’s hoodie tied around his waist, and Patrick feels something between ‘I love this dork’ and ‘I have never been so embarrassed’, because the words on Pete’s bright red t-shirt are living their own life.

‘STUMP CLUB’.

Patrick covers his mouth with both palms not to show his growing smile.  _‘It least, Pete really likes me.’_

“As I said — I’m always on your side,” Pete explains, beaming like a Christmas lights. “And if you say you are loser, then…”

“Welcome to my Loserville?” Patrick adds sarcastically. He bites his lips, remembering how Pete likes it, and yes — it’s a provocation, and he has a few minutes before Pete will lead him into their secret place again.

His Loserville is not so awful.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the title from: Son of Dork - Ticket Out of Loserville /important/  
> \----  
> i was inspired by unposted fic of my friend <3  
> english is not my 1st language, so feel free to tell me about any grammar mistakes/weird things. sorry about any soap-opera moments  
> \----  
> yeah, i kind of ship patrick/vicky because of [ these](http://33.media.tumblr.com/83d3313db3566b00213075d045de7366/tumblr_n4k191YM861ru69mvo1_400.gif) [ gifs](http://31.media.tumblr.com/2012c1a0c34b147d594f6c758b2324d6/tumblr_n4k191YM861ru69mvo2_400.gif)


End file.
